


Two Weeks

by darklavender



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Angry Sex, Car Sex, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fluff and Smut, Handcuffs, Light Dom/sub, Married Sex, One Shot Collection, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spanking, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 03:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19076413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklavender/pseuds/darklavender
Summary: Flip Zimmerman expends all of his PTO so he can stay home for two weeks with his fiancé.It's the best, most wild vacation he's ever taken.





	Two Weeks

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This is essentially a dumping ground for all of my inappropriate Flip Zimmerman fantasies in the form of one overall prologue and several one-shots. 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr!: kylosprettyeyes

_He feels guilty about it._

When he walks into work the day after his two-week vacation and people ask him how his ‘hunting trip’ went, he nearly cringes, because now on top of being a sneaky bastard, he’s also a fucking liar.

He’s a fast liar it seems, the memories of hunting trips as a teenager with his dad, uncles, and cousins suddenly coming back to him. At thirteen years old he’d shot an 8-point buck and before he can stop himself, he’s breathing life back into the damn thing, only to give it a new fictitious death nearly twenty-two years later. Luckily, his story sounds believable: Two weeks up at the hunting camp, just him and his Black Lab, Bo and one lucky shot to the left shoulder of a twenty-two-years-dead ghost buck.

He’d roll his eyes at himself if it weren’t for Jimmy sitting directly across from him, soaking up every detail of his make-believe vacation.

It wasn’t that he wanted to lie to Jimmy, or any of his colleagues for that matter. They were good guys – aside from Landers – but he’d drawn a definitive line in the metaphorical sand. Sure, the station was like its’ own twisted kind of family, and if he was being regretfully honest, he spent more time at the station with the boys than he did at home – not that he did so willing. It was simply the nature of the job - late nights, early mornings, and enough caffeine to send every last one of the Budweiser Clydesdales into cardiac arrest. So between all of those painstaking hours, stress, and endless cups of coffee, there had come to be a deeply rooted sense of camaraderie amongst the detectives and officers – especially the Narcs.

But work was work, and home was home.

As soon as he walks out of the Colorado Springs Police Department at the end of every day, he’s just Flip Zimmerman. He owns a nice piece of land ‘somewhere out in the country’ – as far as his colleagues are concerned - where he and a few family members from the East coast had built a modest four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bathroom farmhouse with a wrap-around porch, two-car garage, and a nice-sized work shed in the back. He has a ten-year-old Black Lab named Bo, and no immediate family in the area. He has a decent gun collection – mostly rifles – and only utilizes them during the designated deer-hunting season.

As far as he was concerned, that was all anyone needed to know about Flip Zimmerman.

A strange grin slides across Jimmy’s face as Flip’s elaborate ghost-deer fairytale comes to an end. There’s a certain twinkle in his eye and after nearly nine years of working alongside the natural-born comedian, Flip has learned it’s a sure-fire tell that the Narc veteran knows something.

Flip huffs a short, humorless laugh, taking a drag from his freshly lit Marlboro Red. “What the fuck’s that look for?”

“You’re full a’shit, kid,” Jimmy laughs, pointing two fingers accusingly at Flip’s chest, his half-smoked Lucky Strike clutched loosely between them. “You weren’t at no fuckin’ hunting camp. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

Flips’ grip on his cigarette tightens. Of course that old bastard would be able to see right through him. He was the best detective the CSPD Narcotics Department had seen since Flip was in diapers. The man was as crazy as a fucking bag of feral cats, but sharper than the nose on a goddamn Bloodhound.

Flip sighs, a cloud of smoke pushing out past his lips. “How’d you know?”

He desperately wishes he could reach across his desk and smack the smug, satisfied look off of Jimmy’s face as soon as it appears.

“You’re a shit liar,” Jimmy smirks, “and I’ve heard about that fuckin’ eight-point buck of yours a thousand times. But aside from that, it was that extra pep in your step when you came prancin’ in here like a goddamn show pony. And that extra pep can only mean one thing my friend – you got the nookie.”

If Flip had been prone to blushing, his entire body would be crimson.

While it was no secret that he was exclusively seeing the town’s most beloved kindergarten teacher, he didn’t exactly want the entirety of Colorado Springs knowing he’d cashed in on two weeks worth of PTO just to stay home and fuck her senseless.

Most of the guys at the CSPD used their PTO to go on their yearly vacation to the same damn beach they visited every year with their wives they couldn’t stand and their kids that drove them nuts. He didn’t have enough hands to count the number of guys that came back looking even more stressed and irritable than they had prior to their vacation. Flip, on the other hand, had spent two weeks balls-deep in his fiancé, and therefore had returned to work stress-free and happier than a pig in shit.

Biting his lower lip doesn’t help the guilty smirk that breaks out over Flip’s face and Jimmy is all too quick to call him out.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Jimmy smirked, flicking the ashes of his Lucky Strike into the ashtray on Flip’s desk, nearly losing the cherry in the process. “You horny motherfucker. Those poor little kids had to be without their sweet Miss Greyson for two whole weeks just ‘cause you wanted to take her on vacation to Pound Town.”

Flip’s breath escapes him half in humor, half in guilt. “Jesus, Jimmy.”

“A-B-C-D-E-F-G- Flip stayed home to get puss-y.” Jimmy sings mockingly.

“Keep that shit to yourself,” Flip says, trying – and failing - not to laugh, “I don’t need anyone else finding out.”

Jimmy holds one hand up, the other crossing his heart over his faded pinstriped button-up. “Your filthy secrets are safe with me.”

Flip thinks they’re off the subject now, as more officers start moseying into the office, sluggish and tired, with coffee mugs in their hands and dark circles under their eyes. Landers is even looking a little worse for wear, making his way from the side entrance of the building to cross towards the patrol department. His signature sneer still seems to be in place however, casting a particularly sour look in Flip’s direction before making his way completely across the worn brown carpet and through the glass door.

“So,” Jimmy muses, drawing Flip’s attention back to the old man and the cigarette in his hand, “how _was_ Pound Town?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
